


Indulgence

by Mallorn



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Consensual spanking, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 22:27:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17109296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mallorn/pseuds/Mallorn
Summary: Tarkin caters to a subordinate’s needs.





	Indulgence

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: Cassandra1. Thank you so much for your invaluable help!

The first couple of times he didn’t even fuck her. He sent her away without as much as touching her swollen sex and then resorted to pacing his study, painfully hard, until thoughts of budget restrictions and the cretins in charge made it go away.

Now, he makes her wait. He relishes the anticipation, from that first twitch in his trousers when he recognizes the knock on his door through the stages of swelling, reaching its peak at the thought of taking her over his knee. She slips through the door quietly, waits for his nod before she closes it behind her and enters the room. Then, if he’s occupied, she kneels beside his chair. He continues to work – to give the impression of working – now and then stealing a glance. She is still, sitting there peacefully with her eyes closed, as in some form of contemplation, betraying little of what goes on beyond the surface. They are similar in that way.

The flutter of her eyelids as he puts down the datapad gives her away. He wills himself not to notice her adoring gaze – whatever has he done to deserve that – and purses his lips as he pats his thighs.  Without hesitation she rises, somewhat clumsily after the considerable time spent with her legs folded, and then his lap is full of woman. She gives a little sigh, as if simply the action of draping herself across his thighs is enough to relieve her of the woes of this world.

He knows what she’s after, yet will not begin without getting a proper look at her. He rests his hand on her bottom. She quivers already, pushes into his hand. He smiles. She makes this so easy. He lifts his hand, then brings it down again, fast. The sound of it connecting with her rump is muffled by her clothes. He gives another couple of slaps. Decidedly unsatisfying.

“Off with them,” he barks, and she scrambles to comply. Her face is flushed, gaze partly glazed over. She’d suck his cock in an instant, should he tell her to. He clenches his jaw.

She resumes the earlier position, brushing against him in the process. It is accidental perhaps, but it’s all he needs to land a series of quick smacks. She is quiet at first, then moans delightfully. He takes a deep breath and slows down his pace, allowing his already smarting palm a moment of respite between each blow.

Every movement is measured, precise, devoid of emotion. He is catering to a need, offering his assistance to a subordinate requiring his guidance. Now, that doesn’t sound so bad. He is doing what needs to be done, as he always has. Swiftly and resolutely.

She moans after each slap. After some time, she begins to squirm and press her thighs together. The dampness there is distracting, the temptation to feel it on his fingers maddening. Instead, he applies a little more force, just enough to make it sting in earnest.

“Please,” she gasps, the first word she has uttered since she arrived. He knows she craves it, just like that, and he complies, over and over again until one moan cannot be discerned from the next and her vocalizations are one soft mat of background sound to the cracking of skin against skin. He relaxes his jaw at last, and when next his hand lands it is very slowly, a caress.

Barely touching, he traces her skin with the tips of his fingers, down to her thighs, cool by comparison. She quivers still, but shifts her legs with eagerness. A soft whimper when he touches her, another when he withdraws. He swallows. She is so wet. Using one hand to hold her thighs apart, he lets the other travel the silken path towards her sex. So soft. In a sudden act of violence, he plunges two fingers inside. She flinches at the invasion, making a sound of surprise. Not protest, she opens wider and pushes back, inviting him to go deeper. Instead, he reaches beneath. Her clit is swollen, sensitive to his touch, and she grinds against his hand with shameless abandon. The beauty of it makes him smile.

“Up,” he commands, more sternly than necessary. It is expected of him.

He stands as well, and she looks at him, apparently unsure of what he wants her to do next. Her glance towards his crotch doesn’t go unnoticed. A curt nod, and she cups him. The perfect blend of bliss and agony makes him shut his eyes for a moment as she handles him expertly. Naturally, as he taught her himself. Ready to burst, he catches her wrist.

“Desk?” she asks hopefully, cocking her head.

He nods. Having her in his bed would be too much, too soon. Too intimate. They are not in a relationship.

Her leaning over his desk, watching him expectantly and with her rosy behind on display, is a sight of true beauty. It’s a mystery why she needs this, why she continues to come back to him.

He enters her without haste, resisting the impulse to slam into her. Her impatient whining earns her a smack on already reddened skin. After that, she is quiet. Her shoulders still give her away, but she lets him sink into her to the hilt and withdraw just as slowly, without as much as a whimper. He repeats this twice more before giving in to desire.

“Moan for me,” he tells her with a low growl, then begins to snap his hips in a quick pace, each thrust punctuated with a small grunt and accompanied by her moaning. She is smiling, he can hear that. It fills him with joy, threatens to make him laugh from the sheer wonder of it. He masks it as a groan of satisfaction.

Afterwards, he holds her. Turning, she snuggles up to him, inserts herself between his arms in a familiar manner that means he can do nothing but embrace her. Her arms come around his waist, clinging. He holds her like that for a long time, one arm across her back, the other on her head, gently playing with her hair as she leans against his shoulder. It’s entirely inappropriate and very close to dangerous grounds. Her hair smells of regulation soap. He never was one to shy away from danger.

“Goodnight, sir,” she whispers with a sweet little smile that makes it hard to ignore her.

He mutters something, then stares at his datapad. She must never know that he is already waiting for the next time she will knock.


End file.
